


Dreaming Of Red Skies

by waywardweirdo21



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam Young Still Has Powers (Good Omens), Angst, Angsty Warlock, Like Ill upload three chapters in three days and then nothing for two more weeks type shit, M/M, Updates Sporadically, Warlock Dowling is a Prophet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2020-11-01 14:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20817029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardweirdo21/pseuds/waywardweirdo21
Summary: Warlock Dowling had been dreaming of the same set of quite pretty red eyes since he was eleven, and he has no goddamn clue why.





	1. Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me, I just have a lot of Warlock feels and I need to get them out somewhere so here we are.

Warlock Dowling did not feel anything. 

He hadn’t in so long, really, that he wasn’t sure what it felt like anymore. 

Ever since the only people who ever loved him left. His old Nanny, who sung him strange lullabies that he was quite certain weren’t normal based on what he’d seen on TV, because “who actually sung children to sleep anymore?” And his complete lack of friends his age to ask. And the old gardener, who taught him about how we should consider all life sacred and cherish it. He was also quite certain the two were in love, based on the actions between them in the six years they raised him and given the fact that, by some absolutely “bizarre coincidence” they retired on the exact same day, probably running off to go get married. 

And when they left, they left a boy with bright blue eyes who had nobody else to care for him, all alone in a big house.

Of course, there were his parents, but Thaddeus was always busy, and Harriet ignored him until she decided to give him a shred of attention by giving him gifts he never asked for, nor wanted, or forcing him to go on “fun and exciting” vacations to other countries, only for him to be kept locked up tight and guarded at all times.

So, slowly, little by little, a part of him faded. The kind, loving, little Warlock that called things Sister, and Brother, and dreamed of snakes and birds and red skies. That wondrous little boy who’d imagine the best games based off of swirling visions of boys with crowns and girls with swords. Well... he did still dream of those things, but they didn’t have the same appeal given the fact he had no one to play with. No reason to smile. And with it, left the brightness of his eyes.

A sullen, rude, and frankly obnoxious boy took his place. It was a cry for attention, and he knew it, but he did it anyway. And he did it for as long as he could manage, trying to be the biggest thorn in the side to both of his parents and everyone around him until he couldn’t anymore. He got so tired of being angry, of trying to keep that resentful fire alive in him. And he knew it wouldn’t do him any good anyway, so why bother? So he let himself be carted around to different places and be kept under watch, and be forced to go to parties and events. But he’d be damned before he said a single fucking word to anyone. That was the only shred of rebellion that he could keep, and he held onto it like a lifeline.

The previously bright eyed boy, had grown dull, and empty. Never saying a word, to the point that it made everyone uncomfortable to look at him. He’d seen it in his mother’s eyes one day, when she’d introduced him to a woman, he couldn’t remember who, and she’d reached out to shake his hand, and he’d just stared daggers at her until she got so uncomfortable that she just backed away, and retreated to god knows where. His mother had given him a look of anger, but then he’d turned those stormy eyes to her and it faded into unease.

And now here he was. Fifteen, laying in his bed, staring unblinking at the ceiling as the distant sound of rain rattled the windows. Then he blinked, and rubbed his eyes. He’d somehow gotten the habit of falling asleep with his eyes open. He wasn’t sure how the hell he did that, but his life was pretty weird and he’d just accepted it at this point. 

He sat up, checked the clock only to see it was two am, and immediately laid back down, muttering profanities and cursing his insomnia. He rubbed his eyes again, and turned on the lamp on his bedside table, grabbed blindly for his note book, and began to draw. He didn’t know what he was drawing yet, but he continued anyway, absently letting his head do all the hard work while he daydreamed. 

When he finally took a look at it, he sighed. 

It was a pair of red eyes. He’d sketched them a hundred times before. He didn’t remember where he saw them but they stuck with him and he doodled them in the margins of textbooks at school all the time. And on the sides of his work sheets. And on napkins. And once he’d carved them into his head board— but that was besides the point. They were quite pretty eyes, he supposed. But they were kind of driving him absolutely insane. 

He’d been drawing them since he was about eleven, though he’s certain he’d seen them somewhere before then but that didn’t matter, and they’d become a constant in his life ever since. 

He was an unfinished puzzle, and there was a gaping hole in his center where a piece should go. A very important piece. No, the most important piece.

And he didn’t know why. He just knew that was the way it was. Like how he knew automatically if it was going to rain that day before there had been a forecast. Or how he’d known which team would win last nights game. 

He won bets all the time because of it, and made damn sure his dad didn’t find out. God, image that. His dad showing him off to important men in suits, bragging “My son can guess the lotto numbers, what you had for lunch, and the middle name of your daughter’s first born child!” Yeah, that would be a nightmare. 

Warlock flipped the page and began another picture. This one wasn’t red eyes, surprisingly enough, this was a long, black snake, with smooth coils and yellow eyes. He’d always loved snakes, for some reason. Reminded him overwhelmingly of Nanny, sometimes. 

He looked back at the clock and saw that almost three hours had passed, and he set the book back down on the table and switched off the lamp. He turned away, and instead towards the opposite wall. Hanging there, looking painfully out of place in his fancy room, was a bulletin board filled with note cards and sketches. 

Written on one of them, he knew, were the words “And the boy’s name was Adam.”


	2. A Book

Warlock scrolled through his phone, searching in vain for answers, like he did almost every morning before school. 

Well, he says “before school” but he doesn’t ever go. He’d just end up daydreaming and drawing eyes and snakes and things across the work sheets.

The thing he was looking in vain for, was the address to a book shop that sold antique books about prophecy. 

No, not a book filled with prophecies, what the hell would he do with that? What he wanted was a book describing the feelings of having visions and how to figure out what the fuck they meant. That would have come in very handy right about then. 

Just then, as he contemplated this, he saw a link that looked promising. He clicked it, and was greeted with a list of bookshops that sold first editions and antique novels. He copy-pasted the list into his notes, then shoved his phone into his pocket. 

He grabbed his navy blue jacket and his messenger bag, which contained his sketchbook and pencils, and headed out. 

He strolled down the large driveway, to the large black gate that needed a million different scans to be opened. He simply glared at the security camera until the gate opened for him. He started down the side walk and continued on for a few blocks.

He sat at the bus stop and checked the addresses again. They were all in pretty close proximity, but like hell was he walking. The bus pulled up and he boarded, along with a couple of tourists. 

*** 

The first two shops were a bust, and the third wasn’t even open. The fourth was up next, and his hopes weren’t very high. It was called “Blue Bird Books” and the store looked modern enough, and normal enough, not to have the stuff he needed. 

He entered, and headed straight to the stacks, running his fingers gently along the spines. He pulled a few off the shelf, and continued to do so until he had a decent sized stack that was filled with seemingly relevant books. He sat and sorted them, all of the leather bound volumes eventually going into the “Irrelevant” pile. 

He sighed, and went to go put them back where he found them. Then, he noticed a book he hadn’t looked at before. But he recognized the author’s name from somewhere, so he picked it up. “Prophecies And What They Mean, by Anathema Device.” He’d dreamed of that name before... the book was undoubtedly new, and —he looked at the date it was published— it was only a couple years old. Of course. God he was an idiot, he’d been looking for an old-timey solution to a modern problem. He skim read the first chapter and was immediately intrigued. She talked from experience, that much was obvious. This woman clearly knew how confusing and frankly annoying it could be to riddle this shit out. 

He bought it at a discount price for eight dollars and took the bus home.

***

He spent the next six hours cooped up in his room with a highlighter in one hand and a packet of tabs to mark the pages. By the time he had read the whole thing and taken all of the notes he’d needed, it was well past midnight, and the rest of the house was undoubtedly asleep. 

What he’d learned was this: Usually you couldn’t tell what a prophecy meant until after it had happened, but it can give you some fair warning of what’s to come, just not specifics. Apparently his abilities weren’t nearly as developed as Agnes Nutter’s, but that didn’t really bother him. She’d been blown to bits for being a witch so he’d say he was doing just fine. 

He hadn’t really learned anything new about his abilities per-say, but it was actually really comforting for him to have genuine conformation rather than taking shots in the dark.

He tossed the book onto a beanbag chair and passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

That night, like always, he dreamed of a pair of ruby red eyes. But for the first time, they were accompanied by a voice, soft and soothing. “Don’t worry, Locky, I’m right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s short, the next one will be longer I promise.


	3. Ignorance Is Bliss

Warlock woke the next morning with a start, the memory of the voice still chasing shivers up his spine. 

He flushed. Well that was a new one. 

He took a long breath in and out, then stood to grab his noise canceling headphones.

He used these only whenever he wanted desperately for answers. He grabbed his note book, and began sketching. The drawing he ended up with was perhaps the strangest one he’d ever done, and the first of its kind.

A figure hovered above an expanse of forest, as clouds swirled in a red sky behind it. He heard the echoes of words screamed at the top of a child’s lungs, a boy. 

Come to me... he said, Come to me!

It made Warlock jump. That... he knew that wasn’t directed to him, and yet—

He wanted to listen.

He had to find him, wherever he was. And find out why he’d dreamed of him. Why he’d been drawing his eyes for the past four years... why... why he’d said that in the dream. So caring it almost made Warlock want to cry. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken to him like that.

His cheeks burned. 

He ripped the headphones off and began to take deep breaths. 

But the voices didn’t stop. They were still whispering in his ears, their words curling around his neck like faint kisses. Love you, Locky... they whispered, So pretty.. they continued. I want you to be happy.. come find me... 

Warlock knew that the voices were just trying to get to him. They couldn’t mean those things, but.. they were saying the words he most longed to hear.

So, he did the only thing he could do. He shut himself off.

The blue that had just began to flicker at the edges of his irises were pushed back by the steely grey. 

The murmuring stopped. He took a shaky breath, embarrassed at how his heart ached at the loss of the voice. It was lying, he reminded himself, and he let his skin turn to steel, and his heart freeze over.

This was all because, somewhere in the last four years of absolute solitude, an ugly little thought had wormed its way into Warlock’s heart, and stayed there. You are unlovable. He thought, so it must be a lie.

Yes, Warlock was empty. But everything empty could always become whole. It didn’t help though, in this case especially, when something empty did not want to be complete.

But even so, a faint sliver of something long forgotten seeped into his skin, and warmth spread to thaw the first layers of frost from his chest. This something was hope.

Hope that, maybe, just maybe, somebody would say those things to him, and mean it. Well, the thoughts were there because he was a prophet, right? So.. weren’t they supposed to be a sign of things to come?

A single voice was able to slither through, though just barely audible, and it said only one thing. Find me.

And Warlock wanted so bad to listen to it, to find the boy who would say those things. Find the boy who would prove he was not unlovable. 

And he was on the brink of considering it, when he snapped back to rage. Those seemingly extinguished embers from when he tried to be an infuriating little bastard suddenly sparked to life in the pit of his stomach. Who were they to tell him what to do? They were just stupid voices in his head, no matter how nice and welcoming they seemed. 

And only a single voice, no matter how much force behind it, couldn’t make him do anything. Because he was Warlock, and nobody could tell Warlock to do anything. That and, a single voice saying nice things couldn’t get rid of over four years of self hatred in one go. 

Warlock breathed in and out. Then, he stood, and shoved the note book under his mattress.

He knew that ignoring the problem would only prolong the inevitable, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a fuck about what was to come at this point. It wasn’t worth it.

After all, hope could only go so far.

This attitude, the fact that one of the actual main reasons he was ignoring the voices was just pure spite, was why the red eyed boy would fall in love with him in the first place. 

***

Warlock spent the next week locked in his room, just reading and playing games on his phone. He didn’t even come out to eat, which nobody noticed, and discouraged him from going out even more.

At one point he couldn’t handle it anymore and crept into the kitchen to get something to eat. He grabbed a banana and a juice box and sat on the counter to eat. 

“Warlock.” A stern voice said and he turned to see his mother standing there, her arms across her chest, looking at him expectantly. He rolled his eyes and went back to eating. “Warlock!” He mother repeated, louder. He sighed. “Yeah?” He asked. “I just got a phone call from the principal, saying you’ve missed the last week and a half of school!” She exclaimed, accusatory. “And?” He replied. “This is unacceptable, young man! And put down that juice box! Don’t eat while I’m talking to you!” He rolled his eyes again and continued to drink from the straw anyway. 

She huffed and turned away. “We’ll be talking about this later with your father.” She decided. She was lying, and he knew it. His father wouldn’t have time to do anything of the sort. 

That was until someone started spreading rumors about his juvenile delinquent of a son that could ruin his reputation.

***

“It has come to my attention that you haven’t been going to school.” Thaddeus began, and Warlock narrowed his eyes at him. “And as your father I believe this deserves a fitting punishment.” Warlock’s eyes narrowed further.

“You will be sent to our house in London for your new schooling, with new tutors who will whip that attitude of yours into shape.” 

This did not surprise Warlock in the slightest. They were sending him to a personalized bootcamp, that was what you did to delinquent boys that didn’t behave. You sent them far away and hoped to god that they cleaned themselves up to the point they were a different person upon returning. 

Warlock nodded and left without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably clear up how Warlock’s powers work real quick... sorry about that...
> 
> So he doesn’t see full on visions, he sees images and hears fragments of conversations that he usually writes down or sketches. This can make it very difficult to put together a complete image in his head, hence the search for answers from last chapter.
> 
> Hope this cleared things up for any of those who were confused!


	4. Close Yet Far

The flight to London was a short one in the private jet, but Warlock couldn’t tell either way. He was curled into a tight ball on his leather chair, drawing sporadically in the note book. 

It had been driving him insane to be without it, if he was being honest. And if that was only after a week, there was no way he’d survive for a few months. 

He was sketching something complicated, that much was clear. He’d had to re-sharpen his pencil three times since he started it. He couldn’t for the life of him tell what it was, but he continued because maybe he’d be able to tell when it was finished. 

After his hand had cramped at least a dozen times and his eyes began to hurt from squinting at it, he dubbed it finished and promptly pushed away, only to nearly drop it. It was a detailed sketch of an old fashioned car, which he quickly realized was his Nanny’s Bentley.

Why would he be dreaming of that now of all times? He couldn’t possibly be meeting her again, the chances were slim to none. 

He made a long sigh and closed the book, and put it into his messenger bag. He rested his head on the armrest and let his feet dangle over the other side. He hugged his bag to his chest and closed his eyes.

***

He startled awake several hours later after realizing his eyes had opened in his sleep. He rubbed at them tiredly, and checked the time on his phone. Only another half hour before they landed. 

Good, any longer and he’d go insane. He clicked through his phone absently until he heard the all too familiar sound of descent. He righted himself in his seat and waited as they landed. 

After they’d decided that everything was in order they let down the stairs and he scrambled to get to solid ground. When his feet hit the ground it was like a shockwave was sent through him. Then that horrible aching emptiness in his center felt just a tad bit smaller. 

He let himself be led into a secret service vehicle, and watched the scenery go by with an almost trancelike fascination. It was only London, he knew, but it’d been so long since he’d been here. So long since he’d been home.

It wasn’t surprising that he’d never felt at home in the States, in DC, but for once he let himself admit that he didn’t so much hate it, as he missed being here. In London. Being home. 

For once in the past four years he allowed himself an almost microscopic smile.

***

Something had changed and Adam didn’t know what it was.

He was just eating breakfast, trying to sneak pieces of bacon to Dog without getting caught, when a current of something akin to electricity rippled up his spine.

He jumped. “Adam? What’s wrong?” His mum asked. “Nothing, sorry, nervous twitch.” He reconciled. She gave him a look that told him she didn’t believe him, but was going to drop the subject because he was clearly uncomfortable. His mother was a gift from the divine, he decided, and he stood and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. 

“I’ll head out, what time does that documentary about ancient Egypt come on?” “Six o’clock, and be safe.” She replied giving him a quick squeeze. “I will!” He assured her. Then left out the door, Dog following on his heels. 

***

The house was not the same as he’d left it, but he’d expected as much. It was still in perfect condition, and the floors still gleamed like mirrors, but the garden wasn’t the same, and neither was his room. 

His room had been cleared out once they’d left, and now it sat nearly empty. The bed had dark blue comforters, and pillows, but that was the only sign of decoration in the sparse room. He unpacked his bags and shoved his clothes into the dresser, and began to hang up his drawings. Pretty soon a section of his wall was completely covered in sketches. He felt much more balanced now that there were about a hundred sets of red eyes keeping watch for him. 

He threw his messenger bag on his desk, and his jacket into his chair, kicked off his shoes, and went to bed despite the fact it was mid morning. He was fucking tired, and they couldn’t make him sit around until lunch.

That, and, if he stayed awake he’d get curious and actually explore the garden, and that would hurt him too much to be worth it. 

***

He woke up only an hour later, he had always had trouble staying asleep. He sighed, he seemed to be doing that a lot lately, and climbed out of the bed. 

He decided to allow himself a moment to wander. He slipped on his sneakers and walked softly through the halls. He traced his fingers over the wall paper, and noticed something on the doorway to what used to be his nursery. They’d moved his room to the bigger one once he’d turned about eight. But he saw little crayon markings in blue and red, going up the doorframe. He felt a pang in his chest. Nanny had insisted on measuring his height every month, and it’d become one of the main things he’d looked forward to as a kid. 

He opened the door, and was greeted with a dusty room, with a bare mattress on the bed, and a rocking chair just beside it. He stepped inside, careful not to disturb anything. It felt as though it wasn’t his room, as if he was barging into someone else’s childhood, unwelcome, and disastrous. Those days felt like another life compared to his life just then. 

He stalked towards the closet, and opened it, not expecting anything, but noticing very quickly a large cardboard box. 

He pulled it out, and kneeled on the floor to peer inside. It was a set of books, portfolios, and binders. He picked one up, it was labeled ‘Warlock’s Drawings.’ His eyes narrowed. He doesn’t remember drawing much when he was little... He flipped open to the first page and was greeted with a horrendously drawn picture of a girl with curly hair and a sword. She seemed to be pointing the sword at a woman in red, who was burning up. 

He flipped the page and it was a boy with a crown pointing the same sword at a person in white. And again and it was a boy with glasses holding a set of scales in one hand and the sword in the other. 

The next picture nearly made his heart stop.

A boy with curly brown hair and ruby red eyes stood against a man with devils horns, with two men with wings just visible over either of his shoulders. 

He dropped the book, and his hand flew over his mouth to stifle the gasp about to pass through his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I’m not good at being even slightly consistent lmao.


	5. Asleep And Awake

Warlock didn’t even know how long he’d spent flipping through that book, looking for another picture of that boy in vain. He didn’t find anything. He shut it with a groan of annoyance and ran a hand through his hair. 

He picked up a different book, and realized quickly that it was filled with neatly written notes. He skim read the first page, and realized suddenly that this must have been Nanny’s. 

It talked about getting the job as his Nanny and continued on about how she would continue to take notes about his development, and other such things. Nothing really unusual that he could tell.. maybe this was just some old reports she made for his parents, but still, couldn’t hurt to read through it a little more. 

He skim read the first few pages before the handwriting changed abruptly from the slanted print to a loopy script. He continued on and finally realized after an astounding ten pages that it was Brother Francis speaking. His handwriting seemed to almost clash completely with his character as Warlock remembered him.

It became apparent that the notes were about the specific way his moral compass was developed. Nanny took the more violent approach, (he’d already known that,) and Brother Francis taught him kindness. Well, that was at least the intent from the looks of things. They failed, obviously, the only thing they’d accomplished was giving him perhaps the strangest most contradictory upbringing imaginable. He closed it, and rummaged through the box. Nothing else important looking, until his eyes zeroed in on a pair of circular sunglasses.

His Nanny had a seemingly never ending supply of them, he remembered. He folded them and clipped it onto his shirt collar. 

He refocused his attention to the book of drawings and tried desperately to remember when he’d drawn them. He came up blank. A couple of drawings would be easy to write off as just having bad memory, but enough to fill an entire binder? 

He opened it again and stared at the picture of the boy with red eyes. Then he noticed a piece of lined paper just poking out of the edge of the plastic sleeve his picture was in. He pulled it out and recognized Nanny’s handwriting. It was another note, and he found the answer to his problem almost instantly. 

It was a quick little note, just a sentence. ‘Warlock has been drawing in his sleep, and neither Francis nor I know why.’ 

Well, that answered that, but this doesn’t help him find the boy. 

He needed another clue, something to give him a location, a drawing of a map from when he was little, maybe, or a picture of a house with numbers on the door that he could trace. Something.

He did not find any of those things, and eventually it was dark out and he just curled into a ball on the floor, the binder still clutched tightly in his arms.

***

Adam was overwhelmed with uncanny notion that something was wrong. Not there, not in his house, not where he was laying with Dog curled against his stomach. No, not in Tadfield, nor anywhere close to Adam himself. It was happening somewhere else, somewhere cold and uncaring. Someone was not okay, and it made Adam’s chest ache.

He knew that the someone was important. Painfully important. He just didn’t know why he knew. 

A gut feeling? No, that term was too flimsy for what he felt. He felt an almost natural instinct to run toward them, like when your mom calls you down for dinner, or when you hear the all too familiar sound of your best friends playing just outside. That was it. A call. A familiarity he couldn’t place. 

His chest ached further as he tried to go back to sleep. 

***

Warlock woke with a start, and looked down at his fingers, which hurt like hell. He sighed when he realized what it was. The tips of his fingers were caked with blood, and his nails were in splinters. On the wooden floor words stared up at him from where he’d carved them in his sleep. 

This had only happened twice before. Once on the wall of his bedroom the place of which was now covered with a poster, and on the headboard of his bed back in DC. 

The words behind the poster had read, ‘He bringeth the storm.’

These words were much simpler. 

‘And the boy’s name was Adam.’ Stared up at him innocently, as if it hadn’t dropped an absolute bombshell on his head.

Well, at least now he knew the love of his life’s name. Well, it had to be right? The name came up again as soon as he’d been able to put an appearance to the boy. To—

“Adam.” He tested it out aloud, tasting the name on his tongue. His voice cracked from underuse, but he decided he liked the roll of the syllables. 

He was then reminded of the situation with his fingers as he realized the stabs of pain pulsing up to his wrists. 

He made it to his bathroom and dug around for a first aid kit, finding one after a few minutes and wrapping his fingers rather messily in the bandages. 

***

His lessons started that morning at eight, with a stern woman lecturing him on misbehavior and talking to his superiors. He’d tuned her out halfway through and just glared at her when she’d yelled at him for it. 

He took a lunch break and finally let himself go out into the gardens. It wasn’t to badly off but there was an almost lifeless energy to it, sure the flowers were alive and the grass was perfectly trimmed but... that was the thing. It was perfect, free of bugs and birds and squirrels. Anything living other than flowers. He flopped onto the grass and stared up at the clouds. 

He picked out shapes of birds, snakes, crowns, cars, swords, and boys with red eyes. He imagined that the blue of the sky was red for the briefest of moments, and let his mind picture Adam hovering just above him with a wide smile, and ruby red eyes. 

His eyelashes fluttered and he was brought back down. The sky was blue and Adam was nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, I’m the master of inconsistency.


	6. Cryptic Old Hag

Warlock picked at the bandages on one of his fingers with his teeth, before he had to stop himself because his self preservation had finally kicked in and told him that it would only make the healing take longer, and the pain worse. Good lord, that thing was about as reliable as his first bike. It had broken down almost constantly before Brother Francis had fixed it and added lights to the front of it. 

He was currently perched on a window sill, chewing on his thumb, struggling to complete a worksheet given to him by the woman, whom Warlock had opted to call the She-Devil. She was apparently surprisingly competent at her job and had found out his one weakness, that being his art supplies, and took them away with the threat that if she didn’t get the work back completed within the hour she’d keep it for the rest of the week. He’d obviously agreed because those damn pages and pencils were his fucking lifeline and like hell was he giving them up. 

He stared at the question again, his brows knit with annoyance. He couldn’t remember the equation for figuring out the volume of a pyramid, and that was kind of key considering that was exactly what about half of the worksheet was. He gave up and used google, because apparently the She-Devil hadn’t thought to confiscate his phone. Ha.

He managed to finish it in time and had to do the same thing with about four more worksheets before she let him have his sketchbook back and they finished for the day. He felt like he was going to go insane, so he started sketching haphazardly until the shape of a coin became obvious. He squinted at it. That was a new one, he thought, and just then a man in a secret service uniform knocked on the doorframe.

“Dowling. A package addressed to you just arrived in the mail, we’re currently having our men checking it for armed explosives due to the fact that nobody except for your parents and authorized officials should know about your presence in the UK. We’ll send it up to you if it is deemed safe.” This had only happened once or twice when he was younger, before he’d set up an inbox without telling anyone so that he wouldn’t have to wait an extra six hours for testing when he ordered things.

Warlock nodded and replied with a quick, “Thank you, sir.” And continued with the drawing. He’d always resented the secret service somewhat, but that didn’t change the fact that they were potentially risking their lives for him, and he still felt some empathy. Well, that and the high likelihood that some of Brother Francis’ teachings were shining through... he was raised to be polite. And to crush his enemies skulls beneath his feet and feast on the flesh of the innocent. God, he’d had the best fucking childhood. At least for a while. 

About an hour later a woman in the same uniform came up to hand him a thin box. He thanked her and immediately checked the return address. He didn’t recognize it, and he didn’t get any strange feelings from it like when he learned something important, but he wrote it in the corner of his sketchbook just to be safe. He ripped open the packaging and found an old letter, a new letter, and a gold coin.

The gold coin was obviously the one he’d drawn before, so he simply pocketed it.   
He looked at the new letter and learned that apparently they were supposed to ‘send the package to this address as a favor’ that some ancestor needed them to fulfill. He balled it up threw it over his shoulder, then carefully opened the old letter, which was sealed with wax. 

It read, “Best to get moving, little prophet. You’re going to be late.

Jasmine Cottage.

When Pulsifer answers the door, ask for Anathema and show her the coin.

— Agnes Nutter.”

Goddammit. Why did he have to end up with the dead cryptic lady?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I lost a bunch of files recently because of an update and this was one of them. Today I finally found it and finished this chapter.


	7. Pepper

The dream started out happy.

Warlock was small again, around five or so, and he was chasing a large black snake around the gardens. He was giggling as the serpent hissed at him playfully, yellow eyes glinting with mischief. He’d sat down to pet it but it darted away before he could. He scrambled after it. It slithered under a rose bush and he was covered in cuts by the time he made it through the thorns after the snake. But it was long gone and he fell to his knees and began to cry. Where did you go? He whimpered. Why did you leave me?

***

Pepper was beyond pissed. She couldn’t convey the amount of unchecked fury sat flaming in the pit of her stomach. Mom was going to London for work and Pepper had to come with her while her little sister got to stay at their grandmother’s house. It was so unfair. What was possibly even more so, was that her mom had yet to elaborate as to why Pepper had to come, nor what the job even fucking was.

So yes. Pepper was mad.

She glared at her mother in the rear view mirror, arms crossed in defiance. Her mother glanced back at her, and sighed.

“Pepper, this case is very important. And the only reason I’m dragging you along is because I think you can help me with it.” Pepper blinked in confusion. “How?” “It involves a rather troubled boy, to say the least. He doesn’t respond to adults, and I thought it’d be best to get someone his age to get him to open up.” Pepper narrowed her eyes. “How troubled?” Her mother smiled. “We’ll find out when we get there.”

***

Warlock threw a dirty look to the woman as she placed another worksheet in front of him. He was far behind so he’d have to work three times as hard to catch up. She gave one right back, but it was her who ended the staring contest, unnerved by those stormy eyes. 

He glanced down at the worksheet and arched an eyebrow. It was an art assignment. A simple prompt and a neat box to draw in.

‘Sketch someone of the opposite gender. Can be a real person or someone completely imaginary.’ 

He glanced up at the woman and she grunted in response. “Your new psychiatrist insisted.” Warlock blinked. Psychiatrist?

He looked down at the paper again and grabbed his pencil. 

He scribbled the outline of a person, stopping mid torso. Slowly, the shape of a girl with curly hair pulled up out of her face began to take shape. Serious eyes, jaw set with determination. He was suddenly hit with the realization that this was the girl with the sword when he’d begun debating whether to put piercings in her ears. He’d decided on simple, small peace signs. 

He gnawed at his thumb, as the shading produced one of the first images of a person he’d ever drawn off the top of his head.

People were rare, to say the least, and other then those newly found drawings in the binder currently shoved under his mattress, he’d only drawn two people. A middle-aged woman with long brown hair and a serious expression, and a man who looked just like Nanny that he’d scribbled approximately— he glanced at his watch— twenty-two minutes before, on the back of a worksheet. Lovely.

He finished it with a long breath, finally content with the picture. He glanced up and the She-Devil took the picture from him. She handed him another piece of paper, which looked remarkably like a questionnaire. He looked down at it and internally groaned. Personality quiz. Dammit.

Favorite color?

Blue.

Favorite food?

The souls of the innocent.

Favorite drink?

Bleach.

Favorite song?

That creepy-ass lullaby my Nanny used to sing.

He answered all of the questions with varying levels of sarcasm, until he reached one that actually struck him as interesting. Well more like strange, ridiculous even.

List in order from least to best the thirty nine different flavors of ice cream.

He blinked, and let out an amused breath. Ice cream was something he used to eat all the time, colorful frozen treats the reminded him of eating sundaes out in the garden with Brother Francis. He’d loved dreaming up new flavors while sitting in the tree branches above Brother Francis, who’d be tending to the roots. A lot of the flavors he’d come up with turned out to be real, and then Nanny would buy it and he and Brother Francis would try it. Some of them he liked some of them he didn’t, but one thing he knew for sure is that there were more than thirty-nine flavors of ice cream. 

So he simply wrote:

There are more than that, and it would be a lot easier to list them in person. 

***

Warlock flipped the gold coin back and forth between his bandaged fingers, counting down the seconds to when someone would appear beside him.

3… 2.. 1..

“Are you Warlock?” The girl asked, clearly meaning it as a redundant question, who else would he be?

“Yep. So, ice cream?” He asked, looking up at her, sliding the coin back into his pocket. 

She sat down beside him, a questioning look on her face. 

“How’d you know it was me?”

What she meant was how’d he know it was her idea to ask him that question, to which he shrugged before answering, “Only another kid would think to ask something like that.” 

She considered that for a moment, before nodding.

“You don’t seem very troubled.” She noted, leaning back against the tree. 

“That’s because I like you. It’s more than hard to find honest people to talk to when you’re like me.” He admitted, tucking a strand of dark hair behind his ear.

“Why is your hair so long?” She wondered. Well, it wasn’t that long, just a bit long for a boy.

“I like it.” He answered, twirling a strand.

That response seemed good enough for the girl.

“What’s your name?” Warlock asked. “Pepper.” She supplied. “Okay, Pepper. What’s your favorite ice cream?” “...Neapolitan.” “Cool. I love lemon gelato.” Her eyes widened. “There’s lemon ice cream?!” He laughed. “Yeah. Let’s see… there’s also mint, mint chocolate chip, cookies and cream— which just means Oreo— cookie dough, pistachio for some reason? Red velvet, blue moon…” He trailed off. “There’s more. I’ll have to think of them later.” 

“You know a lot about ice cream..” Pepper said, adjusting her overalls. Warlock cocked an eyebrow. “Not really. I was just raised by someone with a really bad sweet tooth.” She frowned. “Someone? Not your parents?”   
Warlock didn’t answer.

“I like snakes.” He said suddenly, eyes far off. “Why?” She asked, without missing a beat. “They aren’t that scary, really. There was a snake that lived in this garden when I was little. I used to chase it around, one time I tripped and hit my head and for the next month Nanny wouldn’t let me out of her sight.” He thumbed the glasses in his jacket pocket. 

They sat in silence for a while. 

“Where are you from?” He asked. “Tadfield.” She replied, “It’s near Oxford.” He nodded, silently pretending to know where that was. “DC sucks ass, not gonna lie.” He said, and Pepper snorted. 

“Well,” he rephrased, “maybe it’s because pretty much everyone there knows my name.” Pepper looked over at him, expression thoughtful. “So you need a break?” She asked. Warlock let out a bitter laugh, before responding. “Something like that.” He could feel the gears whirring in her head, and looked up at the sky. “I might be able to convince my mother to make the bodyguards back off on the grounds of ‘give the poor fuck some damn space’ but that’s just a maybe.” 

Warlock turned and quirked an eyebrow. “Depends how stubborn she is.” He replied. Pepper smiled. “Oh, she’s stubborn all right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe... so uhhhh hey? I’m not even gonna say sorry since it’s been like... more than half a year since I updated this but just know that it might take a while but I will finish this damn thing.


End file.
